As It Fell Upon a Day
by Doreen Tracy
Summary: Sam leaps into Kent State three days before the massacre.
1. Chapter 1

This was originially posted in the fanzine, Play It Again 2

Sam Beckett looked about him in confusion. It was dark and he was on a

hill overlooking a brightly illuminated area. A bell was ringing. There

was grass beneath his hands, cushioning him as he sat on the ground. It

would have been ideal, except for the sound of voices raised in anger.

Hundreds of people were gathered in the area beneath the hill.

His vision clearing somewhat, he could make out details. Everyone below

and passing by him was wearing blue jeans and various types of loose

shirts and t-shirts. They were all very young and talking very fast.

Something important was happening.

Pushing himself up from the ground, he headed towards the crowd. Its

numbers were growing. He figured there were nearly a thousand people

here and more arriving every minute. What was going on? He was in the

garb of the youth around him-jeans, loose shirt, loafers. Comfortable

and casual. Psychedelic seemed prominent in the wardrobe color scheme

around him. That dated this leap in the sixties or early seventies.

Where, he didn't know.

There was a tension in the gathering, almost expectation. Storm clouds

were gathering, but not in the sky. There was something familiar about

what he was experiencing. If only he knew the date or where he was. Al

would tell him when he arrived. He hoped that would be soon.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shout, the voice of the kid

nearest him carried away by other clamourous shouts. Some of teh people

had spray cans and were scrawling words he couldn't see because of teh

darkness and distance. A chant began filtering through-"BURN THE ROTC!

OFF THE PIGS! BURN THE ROTC!" The crowd was moving as one-toward what,

Sam didn't know.

As they moved, Sam was carried with the flow. It was becoming clear to

him that this was a campus somewhere. He remembered the anti-war

demonstrations, but few details. As he was shoved along, he recalled his

own sentiments during that time. Tom was on his way to 'Nam, and Sam hated

the thought of him leaving, but held no animosity toward the war in

general. He'd never paid much attention to the anti-war movement. There

had been MIT and his own problems of the moment, overwhelming whatever had

been happening outside of his personal orbit.

Directly in front of them was a low, nondescript building. A kid was

running up to it with a stick, breaking what windows were unbroken. There

were more shouts of "DOWN THE ROTC!" and Sam barely caught himself before

he joined the chant.

"Dr. Barry?" A girl with long brown hair, personable features, and aqua

blue eyes, was looking up at Sam with a questioning look. "I'm surprised

to see you here."

"I sort of, uh, got caught in the mood of things, I guess." Sam stammered.

His name was Dr. Barry. The next question was, doctor of what?

"Who couldn't with what happened last night?" The girl had a disgusted

look on her face. "They asked for this."

"They?" She had said the word as one would say a foul word.

"You know. The pigs in town." She flipped her hair behind her back as she

spoke. "Like you say in class-all that philosophy and how each of us has a

number in the roll of life? It's pretty radical. That's why so many of

us respect you."

A loud cheer turned Sam's attention to the building. It seemed to be the focal

point for the crowd. A boy was throwing some burning rags through the

broken windows. They were actually intending to burn the place down! With

the size of the crowd and the hysterical atmosphere, there was little

Sam could do to prevent it from happening.

"I hope no one is in there," he heard himself say.

"No chance." A short, heavy-set girl stood at his elbow. "The ROTC class

is out." She chuckled approvingly. "Over and out."

A flag was burning in the distance, barely discernable except for the flames

lighting it. The crowd's shreiks were too loud, making his ears burn.

Somewhere there were screams of pain, as the students filled the air with a

hail of stones. A section of the crowd ran toward where the bell had been

ringing, but most stayed put, waiting to see what would happen.

More fire hit the building. Sam saw things that looked like sparklers fly

into the air and disappear into the windows. The crowd groaned as they

saw that, in spite of their efforts, the fire was not igniting. It seemed

they were out of their minds, wanting to burn down this structure and what

it stood for.

"Road flares."

Sam jumped as Al appeared at his shoulder. Why did he have that annoying

habit of bipping in when he least expected? Seeing that girl who had

spoken to him earlier had moved off to get a better look, Sam breathed a

sigh of relief. "Boy, am I glad to see you!"

"It's May 2, 1970." Al's eyes met Sams and saw a flash of recognition and

something akin to pain, as if the date had conjured up an old hurt. It was

so close to the time when... Immediately, Al shunted the thought away.

"We're in Kent, Ohio. You're Peter Barry, a professor here at Kent State.

Tonight, the students burn down the ROTC building, and in two days..."

"What happens, Al?" Those students near him were too distracted to notice

that Dr. Barry was talking to himself. The whine of sirens was beginning

to fill the air.

"You don't remember." Al frowned. Would it be an infringement of the

rules if he told Sam what would happen? He shrugged. "Four students are

killed by the National Guard. Not far from here."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam's stomach dropped. "Am I here to keep that from happening?"

"Ziggy says no." There was a touch of sadness in Als voice, but he kept

his manner businesslike. "All those events hinge on this night; the Guard

taking the campus, the kids getting killed..." He shook his head. "We can't

stop this ball from rolling. Ziggy is operating on the assumption that you are

here to help during the aftermath. In our history, the real time, some pretty

heavy things happen after the massacre. He hasn't quite pinned down what

you are here to do."

"As usual." Fire engines had arrived and the men were jumping from the

truck, hoses ready if another fire should break out. In horror, Sam watched

as the crowd stoned the firemen, rushing them and tearing the hose from

their hands. Rocks filled the air again. "God, Al, this is insane."

"It's anger, Sam." Al riveted his attention on the link. "Nixon announced

yesterday that we were invading Cambodia. These kids want the war over and

everyone to come home. The president just prolonged the conflict almost five

more years with this one action. It means that some of these hippies will have

to climb out of their sandals and put on boots."

Sam noticed the irony and anger in Al's words. His eyes asked a question.

Al bit into his cigar, grimacing. In 1970 he'd been in a monkey cage in

Viet Nam, marching endlessly, starving, watching his freinds die in new

and unique ways. Kent State would be something he'd read about in a back

issue of LIFE magazine when he was liberated. He remembered, vividly, the

photo that had been printed-everywhere, it seemed-a girl kneeling over the

body of the dying boy in the parking lot of this same school. Remembering

that, other photos flashed through his mind-of Viet Nam villages, mothers

over the bodies of their children and men. He had known at that moment

that a war had been fought in the States, as surely as there had been

battles in 'Nam.

"What's on your mind, Al?" Sam felt distanced from his friend, more than

normal. He was distracted by the students, who, in spite of the

firemens best efforts, had managed to restart the fire. Al's cool manner made

him turn away from the commotion.

"I was in 'Nam, Sam." Al scanned the information Ziggy was scrolling across

the link screen. "So were a million other guys."

"And Tom." The chaos and shouting around Sam was escalating. The ROTC

building was now burning merrily, to the delight of the crowd. The thought

of his brother somehow subdued what was happening. There was something-

Tom died, that much he knew, but when, and how close to this very time Sam

was living?

With a sinking feeling, Al noticed the grief-stricken look that crossed his

friend's face. Damn it, Sam was remembering-again. The Swiss-Cheesing

sometimes worked to advantage, sometimes not. "You know when Tom died,

don't you?"

"About a month ago?" A funny kind of ironic grin crossed Sam's face, his

voice and eyes filling with tears. "I think I sort of remember this, too.

I was getting ready for MIT when all this went down. Afterwards, Mom..." The

memories were beginning to rush him and he was glad the crowd had moved off.

"Mom and Dad-they were worried that I'd go radical on them when I left home

and maybe get killed during a protest like this one."

"I bet you fast talked them out of that idea." Al was watching the firemen

trying valiantly to put out the flames as the kids beat them off. Some of them

more adventurous protestors were actually attacking the fire hose, pulling

it from the firefighters hands. "Were you angry about Tom's death?"

"I didn't express much of anything, then." There was movement around him,

shouts, but it all seemed to fade at the thought of his brother. He forced

the grief away, his gaze drifting over to the flames that were rising. The

firemen had given up, it seemed, and were making tracks fast. A roar of

approval filled the air as the truck pulled away from the fire. "They're

just leaving?"

"Oh, hold-" Irritated, Al smacked the link with the heel of his hand.

"Ziggy says there isn't anything you can do and that they'll be back

once the cops arrive. He's also saying that this place is going to

get bad very fast, and you should go to your quarters as soon as

possible. Ziggy is saying tear gas, the works."

"Maybe I should warn..." Sam began, looking around frantically.

"Won't do any good, Sam. The crowd is going to get dangerous and trash

the property. Ziggy says Dr. Barry's car isn't far from here. Let's go."

The car was a sporty little number. Al entered without benefit of the door,

sliding into the passenger seat. At Sam's question, Al explained that

Peter Barry was from an affluent family and could easily afford a car like

this. With great reluctance, wondering if he should do something to help

the students, but knowing he couldn't, Sam drove off campus.

Ziggy hadn't been kidding about the law arriving-and they were coming in

droves. It took him almost forty-five minutes to get to his apartment

only a few miles away. The tension in the car was acute and neither man

said much until they arrived at Dr. Barry's home. It was an old Victorian

house which had been converted into several large apartments.

Before Sam could get out of his car, an elderly lady hurried up. She wore

a fuschia-splashed housecoat and a worried expression. "They said on the

radio that the National Guard is coming."

"It's bad at the campus." Sam put his arm around her in a comforting

gesture. "You'll be safe here, though."

"Her name is Mrs. Esther Gray, Sam." Al said, consulting the link. "she's

your landlady and seems to set great store by you."

"Those people aren't going to burn our houses down, too, are they, Doctor

Barry?" Her watery blue eyes were as round as saucers. "I hear they

broke every window downtown last night, and even some houses were damaged.

What's stopping them from coming here?"

Al shook his head at her words. "They won't, that's all." Sam gritted

his teeth as they headed toward the front door of the house. "If the

National Guard is coming in, they'll keep the peace."


	3. Chapter 3

Her fear abated somewhat, Mrs. Gray headed for her bedroom, and Sam went

to his temporary home. It was a nice enough apartment-very roomy and

comfortable. The doctor obviously appreciated things that were old and

valuable. Most of the furniture was antique or good reproductions, all in

dark, shining wood. There was even a fireplace in the living room. Sam

slumped on an overstuffed chair and gazed up at Al. "So, what's next?"

"Well, tomorrow will be a pretty calm day compared to tonight." Al lit a

cigar and continued. "The Guard comes in and restores a semblance of order.

A curfew will be imposed and the kids try to break it. There'll be another

mild skirmish, and some of them get bayonetted by some overzealous Guardsmen.

Violent, but controlled."

"The lull before the storm." Sam cocked his head to one side, gazing at

his friend. The usual question was coming up and he was eager to hear the

answer and leap out of this mess. "When do I do what I'm supposed to do?"

"Ziggy says there is a sixty percent chance that you change something Monday

afternoon. The aftermath of the shootings wasn't violent-everyone was in

shock. The Guard cleared the campus and closed the school. Kids were

angry and frustrated, but didn't get a chance to do much about it. There

are going to be a lot of rumors, Sam, and a lot of emotion to deal with.

Apparently, the kids look up to Dr. Barry and know he won't con them. You

could be here to help some of them. Maybe one of them cracked afterwards

without your current persona being around to help them through it!"

"For one of the most opinionated men I know, you're being pretty close-

mouthed. How do you feel about all this, Al?" Sam's eyes searched his

friend for any reaction to the question. He watched as his friend

stiffened and stalked through the furniture to gaze out the open window.

"What am I supposed to feel?" Al's voice was frighteningly calm. "I didn't

come home for a while after this. When I did, I stayed in the military.

The guys that didn't, ended up babysitting a bunch of yuppies-to-be. I was

pretty lucky, I guess."

"Your political views have always been fairly liberal."

"Yeah, I guess so." His back stiffened. "If I had stayed home and not

reupped maybe I would've been involved in a few protest marches. I don't

know. No one told me when I went in that it was losing battle. It wouldn't

have mattered, though. It was my duty to go, Sam."

"Tom thought it was his duty." Sam forced memories to the surface. It

seemed easier with each Leap to remember little details of his past. "he

wasn't into being a hero. Tom wanted to serve his country in the best way

possible, like Dad did'

"There are times..." Al began, then bit off the words.

"What, Al?"

It was a thought he had never intended to say aloud. And he wasn't gong

to do that now. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"For what?" The younger man leaned forward in the chair, hands clenched

together.

Al looked back at his friend. He looked so concerned and sympathetic-

truly worried and loving. "I sort of wish I'd been there for you. When

I...I had no one. We were liberated..." His eyes shut hard, remembering

the time. "I had nothing. Most of the guys could go home. Until I met

you and we started working on StarBright..."

"I won't buy that, Al." Sam shook his head. "You had your degrees, you

made Admiral the hard way. Five marriages, nothing to brag about there, but

you did it. You WERE StarBright. And without your influence, your

connections, we would've had no Project, period." The younger man's gaze

was warm. "You went out in every direction imaginable."

Al lit a cigar, but only held it, letting the cloud of smoke waft around

his head. "I could never figure out what motivated me to get a physics

degree, except I always felt more at home in institutions than houses with

a wife and kids. Beth used to complain that I spent more time in class

than in bed. Well...in her case..."

"If I could've been there, Al, I would've."

"I know, kid." Al shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I don't talk about

it much."

"What do we do about Monday, Al?"

Sighing, Al touched the buttons on the link, still holding the lit cigar.

"Ziggy says bone up on your philosophy text and study Dr. Barry's lesson

plans. Apparently, you still have a class to teach in the morning. There's

a fifty percent chance that..."

There was a knock at the door. Frowning, Sam went to answer it.

"I'm glad you're here." A boy walked in as if he felt at home, followed by

three ragged-looking students. One of them was sandwiched between the others,

his leg badly cut and bleeding.

Sam immediately knelt to check the wound. It was a deep slice, not bleeding

quite as badly as he had first thought. "Grab my first aid kit."

"Have them check the bathroom, Sam." He shrugged at the look his partner

gave him. "Well, that's where I keep mine."

"Check the bathroom or the kitchen-I'm not really sure." One of the

students, a girl with braided red hair, took off to find the kit. "What

happened?'

"They had bayonets, man,

the wounded boy gasped. "I got stuck by one of them and the guys knew to

bring me here."

Sam smiled at the girl as she handed him the kit. He upended a bottle of

peroxide on some gauze and bathed the wound with it. The boy winced,

but didn't cry out. "You should go to the hospital."

"And get arrested? No way. Artie said you'd fix things up, that you'd

understand."

The hologram's eyes widened. "These kids trust you, Sam. No way would

they come here with an injured student unless he's one of the guys they

can look up to. He must be encouraging all of this."

The boy that had first spoken knelt by his professor. "Right on, Dr.

Barry. You were the one taht said we should fight against the police

state. Did you see us burn down the ROTC building? It was a protest

against the fascist government pigs. They were taking over the campus."

"I'll try to get a last name on this one, Sam," Al said, indicating Artie.

"He might be the one we're here to help."

"They're all over the place!" The girl slumped on the couch. "You should see

these guys! They were marching up Water Street like they owned the place.

Someone said they were staying on the campus in the gym or something."

"The city is frightened," Sam stated, dressing the wound. His expression

was tight as he looked up at the young people around him. A professor

encouraging this? But then, who would have expected the outcome... He had

to play along.

Al was back at the window again. "There was some damage done last night,

too," Sam said.

"Aw, it was just a street dance." The other boy looked like a Gilligan

clone in his blue jeans and dirty red t-shirt. "We were liberating the

businesses, Doctor, not stealing or anything."

"There's a difference between liberating and vandalizing." Sam bit his lip,

trying to think like a philosophy professor. "What did you think, Artie

when you saw the kids tearing stuff apart? How did it affect you?"

"I wanted to be in on the scene, Doctor." Artie leaned against a chair,

nonchalant. "It was a good scene. We were angry about what that pig, Nixon,

announced the other night."

"I see." Sam leaned back from his patient, deciding it was a job well done.

"We all have different ways to express our anger."

"Hey," the girl said, her eyes wide. "There were more students headed

downtown tonight. Maybe they..."

"Oh yeah, Sam.

Al touched the link and shook his head. "There's a bunch of arrests, but

tensions are eased before the night is out."

"Why don't you all go home and we can maybe meet tomorrow and discuss this."

He winced at the groan that came from the students. "Things might wind

down for Sunday, anyway, and I think we all need a good night's sleep." He

turned to the wounded boy. "You should still go to the hospital." At the look

he received he shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

The kids left reluctantly. Sam watched them go, wondering if any of them

would be dead on Monday.

"They'll be fine, Sam." Al hit a few buttons on the link. "Ziggy says that

none of these students match up with the physical descriptions of the

dead, wounded, or arrested."


	4. Chapter 4

Sam eased back in the chair. He looked up at his friend. There was

something about the look on Al's face-pain, hurt. "What's wrong?"

Sam's voice was soft, concerned.

"It's all too close, Sam." Al brushed his hand over his forehead. "Maybe

I'm taking this too personal or something, I dunno."

"I want to save those kids, Al."

"Sam, Ziggy says that Kent State, or something like it, has to happen or

the anti-war movement loses an important rallying point. Those kids died for a

purpose after all."

"A purpose? To be a rallying point?" His voice was thick with sarcasm and

disgust. "Maybe the reason it all sounds so senseless to me is because it is.

It wasn't meant to be."

"I don't like the sound of this."

Al was busy punching buttons. "Sam, Ziggy says your odds of success are nil,

zero, zilch!" He gestured with the link. "Impossible."

"Too many have died already, Al." Sam knew he had to do something, anything to

prevent the deaths on Monday. There was something in him that would not

allow it to happen. "I've been put here to change things for the better.

Maybe I can get the rally or whatever cancelled, or talk the Guard out of

using real loads-I don't know, but there seems to be a lot of alternatives."

"Ziggy says..."

"I don't care!" There was a fervency in the scientist's voice that broached

no arguement. "Screw the odds, Al. I have to try."

"No, Sam." Al's voice was deadly serious. "If, and I state that again, IF

you continue on this course of action, Ziggy gives you no chance of success

and a fifty percent chance that you might get wounded yourself, or die."

"Die?"

"As in dead." Al's usually expressive eyes were flat, without life. "In

the original history, Dr. Barry disappears from the campus. For good. His

car is found in the parking lot, but he's poof-gone. Ziggy theorizes that

Barry has to stay here, but he doesn't know all the details yet."

"I can't stand idly by and see people lose their lives." His friend looked

uneasy.

Al hated it when the scientist became stubborn. Like a mule. "Christ, if I

had been at Kennedy's assasination I guess I'd think about changing

circumstances, but I wouldn't. Because I wouldn't recognize my own 'now'

when I got back."

"Don't give me that. If you had the chance to resequence events you'd do

it." His insistance grew, eyes alight. "I have that chance, Al. Something

wants me here to save lives. If God is in control of this experiement, would

he want those kids dead Monday?"

"I'm not discussing theology, I worried about you ending up dead, dead, DEAD."

Smacking around the link gave him little satisfaction this time. Al wiped the

perspiration from his forehead. Arguing with the kid was a heavy job.

Sam could just barely make out sounds coming from the blocks away. He got

up from the chair and went to the window. The night breeze was fresh and

clean, but there was a taint of a chemical smell in it, foreign and biting.

"I think they're using tear gas, Al," he stated anxiously.

"No guess." Sighing, Al stood at Sam's shoulder. "It was about the only

weapon they could use against the kids. Usually, like tonight, it defused

them. I got a good dose of it once-not a great feeling-like you're gong

to choke to death, thenyou throw up and feel lousy for a couple of days."

"I can't do anything to help them."

"Ah, Sam." Shaking his head, Al rubbed his hand across the back of his neck.

There wasn't much he could say in the way of comfort. He had to remember

that his friend was a person who cared too much. How had he ever functioned

as a doctor, Al wondered.

"I'll stick close on this one," he said softly, meeting Sam's dulled gaze.

"Thanks, Al," His hands gripped the sill of the window until the knuckles

whitened. "I think I'll need you more than ever."


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday ran into Sunday as they talked far into the early morning. Sam

managed a few hours sleep before Al awakened him near noon, but it didn't

seem to dull his certainty that this leap was to save lives. Fear

coursed through Sam as his intensity grew.

"I'd like to take a drive," Sam said, pulling a jacket over his sports

shirt. Tan slacks and loafers completed the ensemble. It certainly was

a giant step above the last time he'd been a college professor. From what

he'd seen of himself in the mirror he wasn't quite as disheveled or eccentric.

If it wasn't for his more conventional wardrobe he'd be mistaken for one of teh

students. Dr. Barry's beard was neatly trimmed, his hair long and groomed.

A man on the level of the kids he taught, but with his feet firmly planted

on the ground.

Al accompanied Sam as he left the apartment, knowing where they were going

without asking. No amount of talking would change his friend's mind. It was

mid-afternoon as they approached the campus and Sam could hear the rise and fall

of angry voices as they neared the main intersection near the school.

Sam parked the car and went to check out the student gathering. Al followed

closely behind.

A beautiful, black girl ran toward Sam and threw her arms around him, hugging

tightly. It wasn't an embrace of passion, but of fear and needing someone

close that she cared about.

"This Dr. Barry must have a line going." Al grinned, but his eyes were

serious.

Ignoring Al, he put his arms around her in a comforting manner, stroking

the girl's hair. "What's going on?" he questioned, keeping his voice low,

his eyes alert to what was happening around them.

Her face tipped up to his. She was exotically beautiful, but very young-

probably no older than eighteen or nineteen. She had the build of a female

athlete, eyes that seemed as if they could laugh or cry at the drop of a

hat. "We're protesting the curfew. The Guard is on campus and some of the

kids got bayonetted and...other things. I just knew you'd be here." She

grinned. "Like a big brother."

If the situation was this bad off campus,it must be worse there. "I

wouldn't advise driving on campus, Sam." Al confirmed, keeping his voice

calm and even. "There's guards all over the place, not to mention

students that are ready to explode.

"The Guard found what they thought was a fire bomb and think everyone is

out to get them." The girl's voice was anxious. "They're pointing their

guns at anyone or anything that seems to threaten them. It's not safe

anymore."

"Ziggy says she could be one of his students, a..." Al's eyes widened

as the name scrolled across the tiny screen. "Verbena Beeks. OUR Verbena."

This anxious, frightened girl would become one of the smoothest, calming

women Sam had ever known. It was hard for him to remember details about

Dr. Beeks, the staff psychologist, but from the looks of this Verbena, and

the way she clung to him, she was sensitive and caring. Dr. Barry, it seemed,

had many students who depended on him for support in rough times."

\

"There's a protest at eight tonight-when the curfew goes into effect."

Her brown eyes were large, excited. "No one knows really how the Guard

will react if we don't evacuate the campus then."

"I think I'll stay put for a while," Sam said, laying his arm across

Verbena's shoulders. She clung to the hand that draped over her, smiling

up at him. He glanced at Al who was beginning to get that haggard look

on his face. "Some people are pretty worried about me being here, Verbena."

"If my parents knew I was protesting..." She wrinkled her nose. "I'd be

on my way to Stanford before you could spit."

"It might be a good move." Sam's voice was growing thin. The sharp scent

of tear gas was in the air. It hadn't been long ago that it had passed

near this area. "It's a pretty good school to get a psych degree."

"I never thought of that, considering I was going for a nursing degree."

Thoughtful, she grinned. "Not a bad idea, though."

Verbena kept close. Sam discovered that he was the favorite prof for many

of the students and gathered more of the crowd as he walked among them. Most

of the kids, Al told him, referring to Ziggy's data banks, were frightened

and certain about their academic future because of current events. The

majority were not radicals."

Sam also learned more about Artie, the spokesman for his visitors the

night before. He and Verbena encountered the boy passing out pamphlets

for a rally to be held the next day. Holding it at an angle for Al to

read, Sam glanced over the words carefully before tucking it into his

pocket.

Al's expressive face stilled, his eyes darkening. "That's it, then," he

said flatly.

"You don't look too good, Dr. Barry." Having passed out the last of the

flyers, Artie joined the professor and Verbena as they walked along among

the seated protestors.

"I'm fine, uh, Artie. It's the protest-maybe too much sun." Samhad felt

helpless when he read the words, RALLY AT NOON, MONDAY on Artie's paper.

The expression on Al's face had chilled him. More of the information he'd

forgotten about Kent State was surfacing in his Swiss cheesed memory. Sam

gave Artie a shaky smile. "How is your friend with the leg wound?"

"His parents flipped-came to the dorm this morning after he called and

pulled him out of school."

Sam's head came up, eyes wide, as the door of the Imaging Chamber opened

and Al headed towards it. "I gotta get back. Stay put, okay?"

Sam cocked his head at his friend. With everyone around him, he couldn't

say much in the way of goodbye.

As the door closed behind him, Al hurried toward the main control room. IN

his scampish way he looked forward to finding a certain psychologist and

letting her in on who Sam Beckett was keeping company with.

She was alone in the office she shared with the staff physician. It was a

quiet place to think and evaluate what was happening at any given time.

Al surprised her at the doorway with a quirky smile across his face. "I

know, Admiral." She gave him an ironic grin. "I was at Kent in 1970, the

year before my parents convinced me to transfer to Stanford. No cracks about

my younger self, please?

It was hard for Al to picture this elegant-looking woman as the pretty but

gawky girl back with Sam. "He's having trouble on this leap, Verbena.

You couldn't imagine..."

"I can and will." Her gaze was serious as she sipped at the strong coffee

in her cup. "She gestured with it at Al. "Want some?"

"I figure once vice at a time is enough," Al said, waving his cigar.

"Did you get some sleep?"

"You know, I once went thirty-six hours without rest." Al held the cigar

toward the ceiling, the smoke drifting around his head. "It was during

this all-night marathon party and there were three or four girls-I can

remember one name. Delores. What a..."

"Hedging, Al." She wagged a manicured finger at her old adversary, now

friend and patient. "

"What made you search me out tonight?"


	6. Chapter 6

"It's, uh, Sam."

"Okay, it's Sam." She waited patiently. "I'm listening."

"This can't leave this room, Verbena." Al felt as if Beeks was the only

one here, besides Gooshie, that he could trust to keep secrets. "He wasnt

to uh, modify history. Kent State history. If the committee finds out,

they'll have his head on a platter."

"God." Verbena bent her head, face pensive. "He's so sensitive and it's

really no wonder." Her chin came up. "If I were in his position, I'd

attempt the same thing. Apparently, from the data Ziggy is giving us, it

won't work. Gooshie seems to think he has something to do with protecting

the students but not changing the occurence of the murders."

"This is going to sound a little personal," Al said, his voice low, worried

about her reaction. "Did you see people die?"

There was the breifest of hesitations. The light left her eyes. "Yes.

Sandy Scheuer. She was in an elective art class with me, Monday mornings."

Her emotions charged as she recalled the day, the moment, the times. She

shut her eyes tight against the memories. "I really don't want to talk

about it, Al."

Al felt a little distanced from the doctor and usually didn't engage in

touching her in any way. Most of the time she was coolly distracted by the

'host' in the Waiting Room, or whatever was going on at the time. With all

the gentle grace that he was capable of, Al squeezed her shoulder. her

face lifted, and she smiled.

"I understand, and it's okay," he said.

"She was so bright." Unbidden, the words came to her lips. "She was telling

me about this dog she had at the house she lived in. Her name was 'Heavy'

because she was pregnant. I think she was trying to pawn puppies. I was

living off campus, a fairly nice house, and told her I'd like one, if it was

okay with my landlord. Everyone was so psyched about the rally at noon and

... well." She sighed. "It wasn't much of a class that morning. We spent

most of the hour talking instead of the usual lectures.'

"How is Dr. Barry taking all of this?"

"Confused. Sleeping now." Her voice took on a professional tone. "You're

worried about Sam, of course."

"Naw." Al grimaced at the look she gave him. Verbena could see through

every word he said. "Okay, okay, I

I'm plenty worried about him." He lifted his

eyebrows. "Satisfied?"

"There's nothing you can do, but watch and support him through this." She

smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt, picking at the material. "He's very

sensitive to other's pain. When he sees what happens, if he remains there

that long, he'll need you."

"I wish we could retreive him-now." There was no hope in his voice.

Wishing for the impossible was definetly out. "He seems hell-bent on

saving lives, Verbena."

She rose from her seat and turned, smiling on Al. "Maybe he can change

things, Admiral. Stranger things have happened. Maybe he'll find out what

happens to Dr. Barry." Pouring a cup of coffee she wrinkled her nose at

the look Al was giving her. "Oh, he disappeared all right, according to

your data."

"What happened to him, Verbena?"

"No one knew." She sipped her coffee. "I'm having quite a time keeping

my name from him. He's already said I look like someone he knows." An

impish grin crossed her face. "Now I know what Sam must go through."

It was night when Al returned to 1970. The Imaging Chamber door opened

upon a scene out of an armed encampment. Blanket Hill, usually a sort of

passion pit, was now covered with men in uniform. They were at parade rest,

alert to any change in orders, bayonets fixed to the ends of their rifles.

Sam was in the middle of the Guardsmen, speaking to a man with 'military'

written all over him, though he was wearing no uniform, rank, or indication

that he was the man in charge.

Sam felt Al's eyes watching and gave him an encouraging grin. General Del

Soro was not in a mood to hear what he had to say, but it had to be said.

"Why are your men carrying live rounds in their weapons? These are just

students, not soldiers."

"You're supposed to teach them, not instigate trouble." The man's voice

was gruff and no-nonsense. "And this," he said, indicating the crowd of

students milling around the foot of the hill, "Dr. Barry, is trouble. Tell

them to get their butts off this campus and go to their homes."

"That isn't answering my question, Sir." Sam kept his voice businesslike,

trying to ignore the look in Al's gaze. "What if someone is killed?"

"Then they'll deserve it." The General turned on his heel and retreated,

dismissing Sam with his back.

"Damn it."

"I could've told you that wouldn't work." Al's voice was calm, non-

chastising. "Del Soro was a hardliner who defended his men's actions even

during the investigation. He was later quoted as saying the same thing he

just told you. He's a real nozzle, Sam."

"I have a few more choice words for him," Sam growled. It was obviously

pointless to follow the military man, and the Guards were making it

apparent that he could proceed no further. "It's nearly eight p.m. The

curfew. Where have you been?"

"Talking to Verbena. She's taking this pretty hard. Where is she, uh, now?"

"I sent her home." Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's going to get

pretty messy around here fairly soon."

"That's where you should go, Sam. Home. Ziggy is saying the same thing.

But since that seems impossible because of the crowd, and you can't talk

the students out of being stubborn or the Guard out of being pig-headed,

we ought to figure out what you can do."

"What does Ziggy say, besides brilliant things like I ought to go home?"

The sarcasm in Sam's voice was not lost on Al. "You are to help one of teh

students. Which one..." Al smacked the link. His face wore the pinched,

annoyed expression he got when the hybrid computer wasn't performing to his

satisfaction. "He doesn't know. To do what...?" Smack.

"He doesn't know, Al. Try the name Artie HALL." Sam glanced down at the

crowd below them. The students were stirring as though something was about

to happen. "I spent the afternoon with him and Verbena. He's bright, just

misdirected."

"I'm feeding that name to Ziggy." Moments later, as he and Sam walked away

from the troops, a cheshire smile spoke volumes. "Bingo! Artie Hall-

junior here-no major. He goes on to three other colleges after the massacre-

ends up running his parent's pizza business in Akron. That wouldn't be

so bad, except Artie lacks the intiative or enthusiasm to keep the place

going. We're talking bankruptcy, the works. After that, he moves,

drifts around aimlessly. Maybe if he gets steered in another direction

here, and with the right encouragement, who knows?"

"Great." They had moved far enough from the troops to have a better

view of what was occuring. Leaning against a nearby tree, Sam watched as the

Guards took their positions across from them. A crowd of students were

gathering again, to protest the curfew and to make their demands. So far

there had been no negotiations. Obviously, those in command wanted

nothing to do with concessions.

The crowd was chanting, fists upraised, screaming obscenities at the Guard

and throwing anything at them they could find. It was a mob scene of the

worst kind and Sam could have predicted what happened next without his

holographic oracle.

"Those are tear gas cannisters." Al felt his throat constrict, watching

the Guards loading their weapons. He wouldn't feel the effects if they

fired those things, but Sam would. "I think we should vamoose. Nasty

stuff like that and we could..."

Before Al could say another word, the air was filled with the sound of weapons

being fired and the chemical odor of gas. He watched helplessly as

Sam fell to his knees, overcome by the choking fumes.

It was difficult breathing without throwing up. Sensing Al's nearness

made it easier, but not by much.

"Hang in there, buddy." Al hovered anxiously, watching and hoping Sam would

be okay. Damn holography anyway! "We gotta get out of here."

The crowd around him was retreating quickly. Sam somehow made it to his

feet and ran away from the gas and the advancing soldiers. Al was constantly

at his side, showing him where to run, where it was safe. Finally, far

enough away, Sam fell on the lawn, letting himself recover from the dose

he'd received.

"You okay?"

Al sounded strange and Sam managed to open his eyes to see his face. Al

looked as if he were about to be sick, his familiar features ashen. Waht

kind of toll was this putting on him? The sounds of the campus were fading

around him as people ran for cover and home. He sat up against the stump

next to his friend and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Me? Fit as a fiddle." Al crounched down by Sam. "You look like hell."

"Al, I'm sorry."

"It's nothing, kid." He was brushed off as the older man lit a cigar. "If

you weren't givng me grief here, you'd be doing it back at the Project."

"When did we first meet?" Sam wanted to think of something else besides

this, anything but this.

"June 13, 1972, at three p.m. exactly." (author note: I wrote this

way before Playball, and I still like to think the two of them knew each

other before StarBright. I don't go strictly by Don B's universe. Sue me.)

Al bit the words out, ignoring the bleeps coming from the link. "So there,"

he snapped, directing his words at the protesting Ziggy.

"I..." Sam frowned, remembering. "I was just coming out of class, and

you were taking some extension courses to get a..."

"A degree in quantum physics." Al growled around his cigar. "Which I

now regret getting since the beginning of this leap."

"You don't mean that?"

"Aw, of course not."

Sam was beginning to remember more than just the friendship he had for Al

now, and what he owed him. The date and time had registered a memory, a

hole that was rapidly filling with information. "You were like getting

Tom back, Al. God wanted me to try to get over his death or something-

had to be. We were...are...so close."

"Mush." Al made a face around the cigar. "Hope and Crosby." Doing a

little jig, Al began to sing. "We're off on the Road to Morocco.."

"...this taxi is rough on the spine," Sam gasped, remembering the lines of

the old song. Hope and Crosby, he thought, grinning.


	7. Chapter 7

"Let's get you to Barry's place." Al glanced around, feeling trapped. "Where's your car?"

"Just down the street." Sam's eyes were still tearing from the gas, but he

could see well enough to find the car. As he started to get up he heard

Al clear his throat. His eyes came up to meet his friend's gaze.

"I'm not into personal stuff, Sam." Al's eyes were downcast. "But if the

truth be told, I don't think we've had a seventy-two hour period in the

last five years we haven't been together for some length of time." Al's

mouth opened again, then he seemed to change his mind in the middle of

his 'confession'. His lips tightened like a clamp on his cigar. Sam

answered with a wraparound grin, and Al coughed uncomfortably. "All right,

all right," he said roughly. "Let's get your tail back somewhere safe."

'Safe' was a relative term that night. The way home was fraught with

obstacles; flares, roadblocks, and armed soldiers. It took Sam twice as

long to drive to his apartment than it had the night before. By the time

he arrived, he was too exhausted from the gas, and the day, to do more than

shower and fall into bed.

Al left briefly, but returned after Sam had gone to bed. He'd ignored the

looks that Gooshie and Beeks had given him and passed on their offer of a

rest and coffee. There didn't seem to be any progress on what exactly Ziggy

predicted Sam would have to do, and he was anxious to return to his friend.

Sleep would wait.

The apartment Al opened the IC door into the dark. Sam was dead asleep .

Watching his partner sleep wasn't on his list of big thrills. Sam had a

tendency to snore-softly at first, later it would be loud enough to kill

dogs. There was the tiniest, almost imperceptible frown between Sam/Dr.

Barry's eyes. /He's dreaming-probably not good ones./ Al remembered

a few nights like this himself, and the dreams that came. Somehow, they

always seemed to be the one where Sam got stuck between leaps and they

couldn't retrieve or send him. Hitting the door controls on the link, Al

stepped back to the Imaging Chamber. Maybe Sam had the right idea.

"AL!" Sam jolted upright in bed, his face beaded with sweat. Looking

around in confusion, he realized he was the only one in the room. Pressing

the heels of his hands over burning eyes, he tried to press the nightmare

back. It was the same old one, dreaming that he'd awakened in his own

bed back at his quarters in the Project. Half-asleep he'd drag himself

to the bathroom-and view his image in the mirror. Another, not his own

face, stared back at him, eyes wide with shock. The fear would cling

to him like rancid sweat, long after jolting awareness cut short the

nightmare.

He pulled somnolence over him like a blanket. It was just a dream, and

it couldn't keep him from getting his rest tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

Monday. With a shaking feeling, Sam woke to find the sun hitting him

squarely in the eyes. He'd set the alarm for seven a.m., per the

schedule Dr. Barry had written on the kitchen calendar. There was one

class he had to teach this morning-from 10:45 to 11:45. Then, at

twelve...

With an effort, Sam forced the events of the future to the back of his

mind. It wouldn't produce the right effect to act out of sorts this

morning. The real Dr. Barry wouldn't know that four students would be

dead by the end of the day, and others wounded.

He dressed and drove to the campus. Food was the least of the things on

his mind, but he managed toast and a sip of coffee as he drove. His

stomach threatened to reject even that as he passed throught the campus

gate under the scrutiny of the Guard.

Classrooms had a calming effect on his system. He'd spent most of his

life in schools and felt more at home in them than anywhere while leaping.

According to the schedule chart in the main building he was teaching in

Johnson Hall, Room 112.

The classroom was empty at the hour he arrived. There were students around,

going to other classes, some giving him friendly nods, some indifference.

He caught snatches of conversation about the rally planned for noon, and

had to fight to keep himself rom discouraging it.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment. The gas

from the night before still seemed to be with him. The stinging odor of

it permeated his senses, his eyes still tearing, his chest heavy and tight.

The Imaging Chamber door opened and Al appeared, walking through desks.

"You look like hell, Sam."

"It's nothing." Sam ducked his head and went to his desk, taking a seat

behind it. So normal, all this, except for the man moving through furniture

"I had to check out the lesson plan."

"I see." Al kept one eye on Sam and the other on the link. "No class for a

couple of hours."

"What am I supposed to do, Al?" Tight-lipped, Sam glared at his friend.

"I can't stay home all day and sit on my hands, can I?"

"Ziggy is gathering information about what Dr. Barry's role in this is."

"And what has he found out?" There was the slightest hint of impatience in

Sam's voice.

"Nothing he's divulging yet. He's waiting to see what you do."

"You say I actually programmed this computer?"

"Well, you and Gooshie." Al scratched nervously at his ear. "He's still

saying you can

can't change the Event."

"The only way I'd mess things up is by finding out the names of the dead

students and warning them one by one." By the look on Al's face, it

would be a cold day in Hell before he could wring their identities out of

him. "As it stands, I'm scheduled to teach a philosophy class in an hour

and forty-five minutes. What about Artie?"

"Oh, he's a key player in this leap, Sam. Something happens between now

and after the shootings that will create a turning point in his life." Al

knew Sam was listening, even though his head was bent over the lesson plan

on the desk.

"Something tells me you aren't using Dr. Barry's lesson plan." Uneasily,

Al moved behind Sam to glance at the papers in front of him. The page of

notes on the desk top were in Sam's almost illegible scrawl.

"Go ahead." Sam's look was serious. "That's my lesson plan, Al."

The students started coming in for class at 10:30. He gazed at Artie as he

entered the room. The boy looked as if he'd been beaten, but he managed a

slow smile for the professor. The room was full within minutes. Sam picked

up some of the conversation around him, realizing nearly everything was

centering on the rally at noon.

Work assignments from Dr. Barry's last session were passed forward and

Sam leaned back on the desk to survey his students. Slowly, his eyes

covered the room. Some of the kids looked disinterested, distracted, or

simply scared. It was time to start class.


	9. Chapter 9

Al was watching from the back of the room. He could see Blanket Hill

from the windows. The Guard was already lined up out there. Some had

their helmets off and Al could see, with a pang, how young most of the

soldiers were. Kids killing kids, he thought. His fingers worked the

link, trying to pull his mind from other memories, of other kids forced

to fight.

Sam turned from the blackboard. Picking up the chalk, he wrote a huge

"US," walked to the other side of the board and wrote "THEM".

"This isn't the theories of Aristotle," he said, and a nervous laugh rose

from the class. "I thought today we'd discuss the current situation. From

the looks on your faces, I can see it's the topic of the day."

Kids sat up, sleep-filled eyes opened.

"We have a general state of emergency going on here." He gestured toward the

window. "As you can see, we have the Guard, the police, and everything they

can throw at you out there. In general, a police state. Them." His

fingers tapped the word on the board. "I would like to know, from you, why they

are here and what caused this chain of events."

"The war." A delicate-looking girl with long blonde hair spoke up. "We

were invoking our right to assemble and they sent in the Guard."

"It goes a little, uh, deeper than that." Sam remembered the smashed

windows and vandalized buildings of the downtown area, and the frightened

face of Mrs. Gray. He knew if he tried to advance the other point of view,

he'd lose these kids before he got started. Glancing at Al, he found no

help there. "Plain and simple, what do we do? They are taking away your

civil rights, in much the same way as Blacks were denied theres and still

are, in some cases. This is past the stage of students shouting 'Peace'

and 'End the War'. We have martial law here, and curfews."

"Like in Russia, man."

"Okay, but there's cause and effect. Artie?"

Anger crossed the boys face. "We may have blown it Friday night. Burning

down the ROTC was a mistake. They say they brought in the Guard to keep

the peace, but that 's a crock. We broke a few windows, but anger does that.

Right?"

"You've probably been told, at one time or another, that anger solves

nothing. 'They' don't see it as a 'gesture'. It's considered, by

establishment standards, as simple destruction of property. Materialism."

He studied his audience. "There'

"There's a rally at noon, right?"

A few students nodded, one or two saying, "Right on," gesturing with their

fists.

"If every person on this campus knows about it, don't you think the Guard

does, too?"

Silence. Sam noticed all eyes looking to the windows, except Al's. His

attention was on the link. Tightening his lips, Sam walked to the window,

back to the Guard. "And what do you think they'll do when you 'unlawfully

assemble'? Shrug it off and call it a day? Pack up their guns and tear

gas and

clear out? Is it worth standing up to them and going to jail, or worse,

in the process?"

"It doesn't matter to them," a black kid not far from Sam said. "But it

does to us. They are the ones here illeagally."

"How many of you are willing to die for your freedom?" The faces in

front of Sam were stone. None of them would believe that students would die

here today, even if he told them.

And until they were confronted with the reality of the deaths, it wouldn't

sway their determination anyway. "Okay, maybe you can't die for the

cause, but can live for it? Each of you is responsible for the next

generation of students. This is more than protesting a curfew or shaking

fists at authority. What you do here today may affect history and what

other people later on read about this series of events. Do you want to cme

out of this sounding like a bunch of whiny, spoiled children, or people

that stood by their cause and won?"

Al understood what Sam was getting at, even if the class seemed confused.

He wasn't against the war, but for the students to exercise their right to

assemble in a calm manner. It wouldn't change the Event, but it might make

some of the kids think about the way they handled themselves. It could be

an influence they wouldn't forget.

Artie leaned over his desk. "Dr. Barry, it's the war, and the anger that

causes people to lose control. I read in TIME that a whole generation-

our generation-is dying in Cambodia."


	10. Chapter 10

"Then don't let their deaths be a waste. Today, you want to participate

in a rally, to participate in free speech, to show the Guard where you

stand. Nothing may happen, and then again, something may. You could

change the mind of one person with your words, and that person might be

someone who can make a big change."

"What if they start shooting gas again?" There was fear in the boy's

voice. "We all had a taste of that, Doctor. You included. Do we just

sit by while they fire and run like rabbits or what?"

"Artie..." Sam glanced at Al. His eyes were on the link. Still no

help there. "The Guard is afraid. You have to fight their fear. Not

them."

The other students seemed satisfied to let Artie do the talking. "They're

the ones with the guns, Man."

"Do you want to die, Artie? Do you want to see your freinds die?"

Al's head snapped up at Sam's fervent words. "Sam!" he warned, his voice

carrying over the student's heads.

"They won't hesitate to pull the trigger," Sam said, ignoring Al's protest.

Sam's eyes locked with the older man's for a moment. It was a look of

desperation. /Let me try, Al./ The hologram's gaze dropped, mouth

tight. According to the link, there was nothing Sam could do to change this

day. It wouldn't hurt for him to try to change the way the kids in this

room thought.

"Those soldiers, some of them, are kids, your age." Sam went to the

window and gestured toward Blanket Hill. The students heads turned to

look at them-the Guard. They were cleaning their weapons, loading

gas cannisters. There were young faces visible under some of their

helmets, the bright metal glinting in the sun.

The teacher turned back to his class. The expressions of those seated

in front of him were frozen into masks. Artie shifted uneasily in his

seat.

"Yesterday, we spoke to some of Them. Remember, Artie? They accepted

gifts, told us what they felt. They want to be here as much as you want

them on campus. They aren't faceless zombies, like some of you think.

Those

Guards are kids, in school like you, or men who only do this on weekends

and spend the rest of their time with their families and jobs.

"They aren't going anywhere, Dr. Barry." Artie's voice was subdued. "No

matter how they feel, they will still follow orders."

"We can't change the world, or the way they think by one rally." Sam

swallowed hard over the lump that was forming in his throat. "You can

change one little part of it. Whatever happens today," he said, eyeing

Al, who looked none too happy, "we can survive as long as we can change

the world by affecting our own little portion of it." Sam had brought

the immediate situation down to the student's level, personalizing the

Guard, making them more than the killing machines the kids were seeing.

Perhaps he was changing the way they'd see the massacre today. What he'd

said was for the aftermath, and for these students.

"I want our group to attend en masse." Sam glanced at Al, who was shaking

his head slowly. "We'll stay away from the Guard, but still show support."

"The athletic field, Sam," Al said, glancing up. "Away from Blanket Hill."


	11. Chapter 11

Dr. Barry's students decided to go with the plan to observe, thinking

it was just another rally. There was nothing left of the lesson plan Sam

had slapped together, and he'd said what he'd wanted. He felt helpless now.

When the bell rang at 11:45, it was a relief. Soon it would all be over.

He left his books at the desk and followed the students out. They kept

close together as they headed toward the athletic field, as Al had suggested.

The Freedom Bell, utilized normally for pep rallies and the like, was being

rang by a student, calling others to assemble. The area near Taylor Hall

was already crowded. The west side of Blanket Hill, across from the troops,

took on a surreal quality for Sam, seeming more like a gathering at a

sporting event than a prelude to a disaster. Everyone was shouting, and none

of it made sense.

As they gathered in the field, Sam counted heads. Out of his thirty-six

kids, twenty were left here with him. Hundreds of students were assembled

under Blanket Hill, waiting for the rally to begin. He noticed also that

many students just hurried along, between classes, going to lunch or

whatever, before the afternoon session. Even now, in this chaos, life

went on.

Sam tried hard to convince himself that this had been his concept of

'leaping' all along. To observe historical events, tragic events, in the

history that was available to him. Fear choked him now, not knowing what

to do or why he was here. It was obvious that he couldn't stop the situation

around him. Time marched on and over him.

Al was suddenly at his elbow. "We found the original history, Sam!" He

sounded elated. "When Dr. Barry disappeared after Kent State, he never

appeared anywhere again. Ziggy says he never returned, not even to pack his

stuff. His landlady reported him as missing, which started rumors that he

was a fifth shooting victim that the government was covering up. We have no

current data on him!"

"What could have happened to him, Al?"

The Observer shrugged. "What we theorize is that when Barry cut and ran

some of the kids had their support shoved out from under them. He might have

felt he'd goaded the kids into the incident. He couldn't handle his

guilt, and the kids didn't come to terms with theirs."

"Big help, Al," Sam said out of the side of his mouth. "I'd figured most

of that."

"That's not all, Sam. While Barry encouraged the kids to demonstrate, with

that lecture you may have changed some minds. If you can keep him here, give

him a reason to stay, like holding this bunch of students together, he'll

achieve tenure and remain at Kent the rest of his teaching career."

"Where was Dr. Barry when the firing started?"

Al wrinkled his brow as the information scrolled across the screen. He

needed glasses and refused to where them. "According to Ziggy, some

students saw him running toward the parking lot." His expression was dark

with worry as he looked up from the display. "That's where a lot of the

kids bought it."

"And we're in the field-away from the parking lot." With some sense of

relief, Sam turned back to his students. A couple of the girls and Artie

were standing as close to him as they could, trying not to look frightened.

"They're loading gas, Prof." Artie's voice took on a hard tone. "They'll

shoot it toward the Hill, won't they?"

The cannisters were fired-it seemed hundreds of them-but the smoke blew

away from teh students and toward the Guard. In the parking lot, a cheer

went up, until they realized the gas was headed towards them.

From the line of kids in front and in back of them, Sam knew they didn't

have space to run, if they had to move fast. Glancing at his watch, Sam

noted the time. 12:24. A second later, the first shots rang out.

"What the hell are they firing?" Artie strained to watch the troops

shoot. Smoke was rising from their position on the Hill.

"Blanks?"

With cold certainty, Sam knew Artie was wrong. Screams split the shouting,

the chaos. A mass of humanity was running for cover, any cover. At the first

crack of rifle fire, Sam had followed the instinct to drop. The blond

girl from his group was a few feet in front of him, screaming in blind

panic. Inching his way over to her, he pulled her to the ground and held

her until the sound of weapon fire stopped. Artie was on the grass next

to Sam, his face an expression of stunned disbelief. Helping them up, he

looked back toward the parking lot. A crowd was gathering there, not more

than five hundred feet away. It was as if time had slowed and suddenly

silenced the screams.

Feeling numb, he checked Artie and the girl. She seemed to have recovered,

her gaze stunned and wide, turning her face to the professor. "They

shot us." Her voice was small and empty.

Sam held her close for a moment, then felt he was needed elsewhere, with

the injured and dying. He glanced at Artie. Reaching over, he took the

boy's hand and the three hurried across the field to the parking lot to

assist the wounded.

Sam couldn't tell where to start. It was obvious the moment he saw the

carnage that he was in the middle of the target area. One girl had no

throat. A pool of blood grew beneath her unconscious body. There was one

boy lying as if dead. He, too, had been shot. All Sam could do was make

him comfortable and urge the students not to move him. If the ambulances

arrived in time he might live, but from the nature of the wound, he'd

probably be paralyzed for life. Kneeling by the wounded boy, Sam felt

cloth pushed into his hand. Artie was at his elbow tearing his t-shirt

into strips. Together, they wrapped the boy with the makeshift bandage

and stabilized him until help could come. Artie and Sam exchanged tight

grins as they tied the last of the cloth. His bleeding had stopped.

"Stay with him, Artie," Sam said, pushing up from the ground.

He offered a backwards glance toward Al and found he was right at his

shoulder. His face was blank with grief, fresh and bright. "This is like

a war zone," he heard Al mutter.

Sam knelt next to another kid, a young man with a shoulder wound. Beneath

Sam's hands, he was quiet, not crying out as his injury was treated. "It

is a war zone, Al." Blood streaked the scientist's hands and face as he held

a pad over the shoulder; the boy was passing out. In the distance he couuld C hear the sound of sirens. Would the student allow the ambulances to get

through? Would they arrive too late?

"Aw, Sam." Al looked confused, wandering through the people hurrying around

him. It was like the battle of Do Chi, but this one had been fought on

American soil. He watched as Sam shook his head, giving the boy up to

the attendants. Half-crounched on the ground, tears streaking down his

face, Sam looked pretty messed up.

"Kid?" Al leaned down to try to make his friend hear him. "We'll leave

soon. Any minute you'll leap."

Al had never seen such vulnerability on Sam Beckett's face before. His

partner had never been one to hide his emotions.

"Leaping won't help me forget this." Sam locked gazes with his friend

for a moment, then went to help more wounded.

The injured and dying were taken away and Sam still hadn't leaped. The

campus was being systematically cleared and it was quiet, even with

the crowd that was gathered. Sam was in the midst of it, blood staining

nearly every bit of clothing and exposed skin. He felt numb. The touch

of a hand on his shoulder made his head come up. It was Artie. And the

others in his class. Somehow, they had found him.

"What do we do now, Dr. Barry?" Artie's voice was as dead as Sam felt. He

was covered in blood, too, from assisting the injured.

"You did good, Artie. Maybe it's your calling." He had to grin at the

look that crossed the boy's face.

"That's it, Sam." Al gestured with the link. "

"Artie goes on to medical school. Not that he finishes it, but he becomes

an emergency medical technician, and a good one, too."

Sam glanced down at his hands and fingernails. Blood, dark and drying. The

faces of the students around him were expectant, hoping he had all the

answers. What could he tell these people? That 'THEY' had won? Give them

another lecture? Pulling as many as he could into his arms, Sam held the

students close. Touch, not words, was what would help them heal. And time.

He knew Dr. Barry better now. The kids were clinging to him, frightened,

and willing for his comfort. That was why the professor was staying this

time-to help them through this, each of them, including Artie who was

headed toward a better future.

After the ones living on campus had collected their things, the group

headed toward the Triumph. They couldn't bring much, leaving most of teh

their possesions to be picked up later. The Guard was clearing off

everyone. Sam managed to stuff four students and their luggage into the

little car. Al was standing alone by the driver's side as they arrived,

looking fairly shaken.

Sam glanced at his friend. There was more of an understanding in his

eyes now, a feeling of relief that it was over, and something else he

couldn't fathom.

"You gonna be okay?" Al asked.

"I think so." Sam grinned. His heart wasn't in it.

"Dr. Barry will be okay, too, I think. According to Ziggy he stays at

Kent and helps the kids traumatized by the murders. He's still teaching

and crisis counselling for the school."

Sam glanced back as the kids settled in the Triumph, his hand on the car

door. They were too busy talking among themselves to notice much else.

"How is he going to understand what happened today if he wasn't here to

witness it?"

"He'll know. And, with these kids around, he'll learn to accept it. The

kids do okay, too." Al's voice reflected the grief in his eyes.

Sam got in the car and turned the engine over. It was a bit cramped ion

the front, even with the top of the car down. He twisted around to

adjust the side mirror. It was off-kilter, and as he turned it into

position, his eyes widened in shock. There was a bullet hole, neatly

centered. It had travelled through the mirror and away. His last

thought, before he leaped, was wondering what Dr. Barry's reaction would

be when he saw it.

He sensed he materialized in familiar territory. It gave him a sense of

peace, even with his eyes closed. And the smell-an aroma, like a deep

part of himself coming through-a memory.

"October. No, November!" His eyes took in the golden glory around him.

Seed corn. /And where there's seed corn-there's pheasants!/

The End


End file.
